Evil Woman

Evil Woman

by John Savage

Published by Running Wolf Books

Copyright 2016 John Savage

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means except by prior and express permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used as an element of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter 1: I am Evil

I am evil. I am the Temptress, the Enchantress, a femme fatale, a siren luring other women into world of sin and sex and depravity.

It is my nature; I cannot help myself. I was born a witch and shall die one someday. Wicked and evil were my thoughts from the very first moment I drew breath. I am the Daughter of Lucifer come to Earth to corrupt and degrade and entrap sweet, young, innocent women in my web of perversion.

Perhaps I wax a bit overly poetic, yet what I say is true. From the moment I began to become a woman, my whole life, thoughts and energy have been directed to entrapping other woman in a perverted lifestyle I both embrace with all my heart and cannot live without.

Stated in more practical, commonplace terms, I am highly sexual and lesbian to the core, and kinkier than most people would believe possible. And I enjoy luring in and entrapping other women into my lifestyle. Nay, it is more than an enjoyment; it is a compulsion, an inner drive I can no more ignore than I can ignore breathing. I must embrace any woman I come near, forcing her inner submissive nature to burst forth and envelope her until she is as corrupt as I.

This is the tale of my greatest conquest. And the biggest challenge I ever faced. In a word: Stella.

Ah, Stella, that radiant beauty whose liquid blue eyes and golden locks cascading down have tempted many a man, teasing and offering paradise but rarely delivering on that promise. Stella with a body that would grace any centerfold and screams sex at all who see her. Stella, talented, beautiful, sexy and intelligent. Too much for any mortal woman. Perhaps she was the offspring of a god and goddess send down to earth to tempt men. And, most of all, to test my resolve to have her.

Before I begin the tale, perhaps you would like to know something about myself. First off all, my name. You must know a person’s name before you can begin to understand them. My name is Jezebel.

Scoff, will you? A person should be called what she wishes and, certainly, the name fits in this case. I am Jezebel. So be it!

Of course, that was not the name my mother gave me. That saintly, devout woman labeled me otherwise at birth. As a child, I was content to let others call me as they would. It made little difference. I always knew that I would assume another name when the time was right. On my seventeenth birthday, having already proven worthy of the name, I took to calling myself Jezebel, and so shall it always be.

That was also the day upon which my mother rushed off to her great reward, leaving me alone in the world, lacking in family but with enough money so that I would never have to work a day in my life. From that moment forth, I knew that I was destined for much more than a humdrum existence of “quiet desperation,” as Henry Thoreau once put it.

Before I dive into the great battle between myself and the sweet Stella, let me give you a small example of my nature. When I was in high school, a hellish place where teachers attempt to pour facts into your head, mostly in hopes that you will pass the semester end exams, I met a girl named Cyndy. Yes, that’s the way she spelled it, and proud she was of her parents having given her a divergent spelling to carry with her the rest of her life. As if that made her something special. Cyndy was an early bloomer, developing a set of boobs large than most girls at an early age. This, of course, attracted the attention of all the male students who were just beginning the torment of hormone-driven sex drives with, unfortunately, little chance of satisfying them. Save, of course, via their own means. You know what I mean.

Well, I was also attracted to Cyndy, having seen those big garbanzos in the shower room of gym class. Unlike some that are large but flabby, these were firm and bouncy, and just begged to be sucked on. So I set about to conquer this top-heavy babe with more zeal than most of the males could muster. And that’s saying a lot.

The first stage in my plan was to become her friend. She was top-heavy but not too heavy on the brains. So I simply offered to help her with her math class. After a couple sessions in her home, trying to explain algebra to her, the talk turned to other things: mainly boys. Since I’m drop-dead gorgeous and with a killer body, it was easy for us to relate, as we were both constantly being chased by boys eager to get into our pants. Now here’s the fun part. Cyndy admitted that she was interested in sex and felt an attraction for the male of the species, but was put off by the fact that her overbearing mother had brainwashed her into believing that sex was evil, and to be deflowered was a “fate worse than death”. Hogwash! So I set about describing to her the wonders and incredible ecstasy that comes to a woman during the sex act. I was so very graphic and enthusiastic in my vivid descriptions of the act that I had her squirming and ready to shove her hand down her pants to play with herself.

And this was all despite the fact that I was, myself, a virgin!

You can learn a lot by reading graphic romance novels and prowling the Internet.

I played her like a prize trout, just the right amount of pulling on the line and sometimes letting her run. By the end of our second week of tutoring, I had her believing that if she didn’t try sex there was something seriously wrong with her and she would become an old spinster. She was eager as hell to try it. But...

There was still the brainwashing implanted by her Mommy Dearest. She just could not bring herself to simply ask a boy for a date and spread her legs. Which was fine with me because that was just the mental state I wanted her in. Shyly, I dropped a hint that I had a solution to her problem. The answer was simple: get raped. Well, not quite an honest rape, but a simulated one. If she were to allow me to set her up so that a boy of her choosing would have access to her body for that supposedly wonderful act, but also such that she was unable to tell him no, then she could have her ecstasy and not feel guilty about it.

The fool saw my logic and agreed! Hell, I think she was so horny that she would soon be humping a bedpost if she didn’t get a man inside her. All I was doing was giving her the chance to do it without feeling the pains of guilt.

Of course, I was planning to inflict upon her my own agenda. Why else would I go to all that work?

Stage One was to have her pick the boy she wanted to shag her. She did have good taste, I’ll say that for her. Rod was on the football team, had a body Adonis would kill for, and wasn’t too bad looking, either. If I were attracted to men, that is the one I would have picked.

Stage Two was for me to have a little chat with Rod. That was not hard. I simply sat down next to him in the cafeteria and smiled at him. I also had the top two buttons of my blouse undone, which gave him something to stare at while I made the pitch.

I explained that a girlfriend of mine had the hots for him and wanted to have sex with him. The shit-eating grin he gave me said that he assumed I was that “girlfriend”, but I quickly shot that down. No, I explained, it was not me but a girl who was just as attractive (a lie, I know, but it worked). All I had to do was mention the name Cyndy and he was drooling all over his lunch. Then came the slightly tricky part. She wanted him, but had this hang-up about being deflowered. After I explained what that word meant and he realized I was talking about a virgin, he nearly creamed in his pants right there and then. Every horny male dreams of getting first crack at a virgin, and Rod was no exception.

So, I explained. Cyndy would be in a motel room waiting for him to come, and she would be tied down to the bed and gagged. That way she simply could not say no when he entered and had his way with her body. I elaborated on how much she lusted after his body but had to deal with her hang-up about “giving in” to a man.

He looked a little skeptical, but the allure of kinky sex as well as a virgin conquest was just too powerful for him to resist. Silly male! I told him that I would set up everything that Saturday night, and he didn’t even have to worry about untying her as I would do that later. Not that I needed to, but I set the hook deeply in when I told him that, if he wanted, she would also be blindfolded so he could pretend it was a real rape. I think ravishment was the word I used, but he got the idea.

Then a frown crossed his face. He wanted to know how he could be sure it not a trick of some kind, was really Cyndy, and not some ugly bitch instead. I told him that once he saw her naked on the bed, he would know it was the real thing. If he didn’t like what he saw, just turn around and leave.

I got his phone number and told him that I would call to give him the motel room number on Saturday. I also told him that he should keep quiet about this. If I heard any hint of this getting around, he wouldn’t get Cyndy and we would start rumors that he was gay.

I wasn’t too worried about him telling stories afterwards because, if all went as I planned, no one would believe him.

This was going to be fun and I could hardly wait until Saturday.